Sleepwalker
by Audra Lachesis
Summary: Nightmares alone can drive one to distraction. But how do you run from the terrors of your own dreaming mind? H&G, my first multi-chaptered fic -- please R&R!
1. Midnight Musings

Sleepwalker 

By Audra Lachesis

spazzula@yahoo.com

A/N: Nightmares are all well and good in the Potterverse, but I decided to take it a step further. I happen to know individuals who are chronic sleep_walkers_, and there's nothing more frightening at night than discovering that a five-year-old has left the house and is wandering the streets at 4am. When I first conceived of this story, I envisioned it as my typical one-shot. It's grown, however, and I expect it will end up being three chapters. Let's just hope I can keep people's attention for that long – I've never tried it before.

As much as it pains me, Harry and his friends are not mine – they are the creations of Ms. JK Rowling, may she live to a ripe old age and finish Book Six soon, ^_^

***

Chapter One: Midnight Musings 

Alone in the darkness, a solitary figure huddled underneath a blanket in the Weasleys' living room. The rest of the house was asleep, oblivious to the shivering form that occupied their couch. Indeed, he wasn't _supposed_ to be on the couch – he was supposed to be on the topmost floor, on a small guest cot, only yards away from the snoring form of his best friend, Ron.

At least the nightmare hadn't been one of _those_ kind – the kind that linked him mysteriously to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, which showed him horrible visions of things happening on the other side of the country. The nightmares that always ended in a flash of brilliant green light, or with the agonized scream of another Death Eater punished with Cruciatus. He hated those dreams, worse than any others, because he knew they were true dreams, visions of things that were actually happening. It was a weakness that Voldemort could use to his advantage.

No, it had been a normal, run-of-the-mill nightmare that had wakened Harry Potter in a cold sweat and driven him out of Ron's bedroom. 'Normal' nightmares for Harry Potter were nothing to scoff at. These dreams weren't visions, but they were real enough – vivid memories of the Department of Mysteries, only weeks ago, surfacing in Harry's unconscious when he was asleep and defenseless. The flash of red light arching through Sirius' chest. The lifeless expression in his godfather's eyes as he slipped silently through the veiled archway. _You did this,_ Sirius accused, his eyes staring blankly up at Harry. _This happened because of YOU._

They were almost as bad as the visions. Harry didn't wake up with the scar on his forehead burning, but he did wake covered in sweat and heaving uncontrollably. He didn't think he could stand it if Ron woke up to find him in hysterics, so Harry made sure he removed himself quickly from Ron's room. Not knowing where else to go, Harry had grabbed a blanket and set himself up on the couch in the living room of the Burrow, curled in front of the dying fire. He could go back upstairs when he was in control again, or he could just sleep down here.

The moonlight filtered in through the windows of the living room, casting ghostly shadows across the floor. Harry had pulled his blanket firmly over his head, shutting out light altogether. He huddled in the darkness, breathing deeply, and set about convincing himself that Sirius was dead, that it was no one's fault but Voldemort, and that blaming himself wouldn't bring his godfather back.

A noise from the staircase drew Harry's attention, and he lifted the corner of the blanket slightly. Through the tiny hole, he watched a small figure in white drift down the stairs, shuffling aimlessly, and pause at the bottom. Harry held his breath, bewildered, and squinted through his makeshift peephole.

The figure shifted restlessly on bare feet, and a patch of moonlight illuminated the face of Ginny Weasley. Harry's eyes widened – there was no expression on her face at all. She was staring blankly into midair, uncomprehending, one hand plucking nervously at the sleeve of her long nightdress. The expressionless look in her eyes was unnerving. Gone was the famous Weasley temper, the mischievous twinkle Harry had learned she shared with the twins. She simply stared into thin air, her brown eyes dull and lifeless.

Harry didn't dare move, for fear of frightening her. He watched in alarm as she shuffled her feet and sidestepped clumsily to the window, fluttering one hand vaguely in front of her. He strained his ears, trying to catch what she was mumbling under her breath.

"I won't, I won't… not anymore, Tom, stay away from me… _no_, Tom…" Ginny stumbled and sat down hard on the window seat, but didn't seem to register her surroundings at all. She simply pulled her knees up beside her and huddled into a ball, still staring blankly at some unseen person in front of her.

Still, Harry did not move. She had to be sleepwalking – and by the sound of it, in the middle of a nightmare. Voldemort's very visible debut in the Department of Mysteries had apparently affected more people than Harry had realized. If Ginny was having nightmares of the Chamber of Secrets again – if she was that afraid of Voldemort regaining control over her…

Silent tears were now streaming down Ginny's face, and Harry bit his lip. She had started rocking back and forth on the window seat, and it took Harry a moment to realize that she was throwing her weight against the window itself, trying to force it open. 

"Not again, you can't make me, I won't…" Ginny muttered darkly, staring at the air in front of her with loathing and fear. "Go away… go away…"

The window sprang open suddenly, and Ginny lost her balance, flinging her arms out to catch herself before she fell through the window. She recovered quickly, and scrambled backwards, still gazing defiantly at the apparition of Tom Riddle that only she could see.

Harry threw back the blanket to do something, but the flurry of a flowered dressing gown stopped him abruptly. Molly Weasley had arrived downstairs, and was at Ginny's side in a heartbeat. Flustered, Harry pulled the blanket back over his head and continued to watch as the Weasley matriarch grasped her daughter's elbow and urged her gently away from the window.

"Come on, Ginny, back to bed, love…" Molly said in a low voice, guiding Ginny back into the center of the room. The determination slowly faded from Ginny's face and she became expressionless once more, staring vacantly into space. Her mother latched the window again and turned back to take Ginny's elbow.

"Back upstairs, Ginny, there's a good girl," Molly said soothingly. "Get some sleep, and I'll make something special for breakfast."

"He's coming for me, Mummy," Ginny said plaintively, her voice distant and frightened. She sounded far younger than Harry had ever heard her in recent years. "He told me he would."

"He won't, Ginny, we'll keep him away. Riddle won't hurt you anymore, I promise."

The two Weasley women vanished up the staircase, and Harry finally emerged from underneath his blanket, shaken. He'd never seen anyone sleepwalk before. It was disturbing – the blank expression in Ginny's eyes, the slow rhythm of her pounding on the window until it opened, and the certainty that, had Molly not arrived at that moment, she would have left the house, and wandered off into the night alone. Harry hadn't had any idea what to do to stop it. He'd always been told that it was dangerous to wake a sleepwalker, and that they were often quite a bit stronger than normal while they were asleep. If he'd startled her into waking, Ginny might've just knocked him down and scrambled out of the window anyway, in her disorientation. Even asleep, he suspected her Bat-Bogey Hexes were formidable.

Lucky thing her mother had happened along…

As if on cue, Harry heard footsteps descending the stairs once more, and he panicked. He threw the blanket back over himself and held his breath. Surely it couldn't be Ginny again… What would he do if she tried to walk out the front door?

"Harry?"

Harry winced. It was Mrs. Weasley. Sheepishly, he poked his head out from under the blanket, just enough for her to see his eyes and an unruly mop of black hair.

"I was just about to make some hot chocolate, dear – do you want some, or should I just let you get back to sleep?" Mrs. Weasley whispered to him.

Harry's eyebrows shot up. She knew perfectly well he hadn't been asleep, or she wouldn't have called his name in the first place. Without answering, Harry got to his feet, looping the blanket over his shoulders, and followed her into the kitchen.

"You saw Ginny, didn't you?" Molly asked, as she set a pan of milk to boil. She barely waited for Harry's nod before continuing. "She's been like that all summer, I'm afraid. Not just the nightmares, but she tries to leave the house. I wrote to Dumbledore about it. He supposes that she's trying to escape Tom Riddle, and doesn't even realize what she's doing. The first time it happened, I caught her halfway to the pond – I've had to set wards on her bedroom door to let me know if she leaves in the night." Molly sighed. "I'm not trying to alarm you, Harry dear. I just don't want you to think she's still – you know – being controlled. That's what she's afraid of, I think. That's what she's trying to run away from."

"So she's sleepwalking?" Harry croaked, speaking for the first time. 

"Yes. She had a few nightmares after her first year, but they faded in time. Dumbledore thinks You-Know-Who has something to do with it; now that he's back, Ginny's agitated again. And it's worse this time, because it's not just a memory in a diary – he's real, and alive, and she's seen him. Even though she hides it well, Ginny's more terrified than the rest of us."

"Do you think he's actually causing the dreams, now?" Harry asked worriedly. "I – I have nightmares, too… like when Mr. Weasley was attacked last year. Could he be sending dreams to Ginny, to frighten her?"

Molly shook her head. "I don't think so. He has more pressing issues than terrorizing a fifteen-year-old girl," she answered, a trace of bitterness in her voice. "I asked about that in my letter, as a matter of fact. Dumbledore thinks it's just psychological, and has no direct link to You-Know-Who. Hopefully these dreams will stop, too, just like the others did."

"What if they don't?" Harry asked suddenly. "She – you've got wards on her room here, but what about when she goes back to Hogwarts? You won't be there to – to stop her," he finished lamely.

"The Headmaster and Professor McGonagall are making arrangements," Molly replied. "Occlumency lessons, maybe – and I think they might put similar wards on her dormitory, perhaps warn the Fat Lady to keep an eye out for her. She won't get far in that case, and she certainly won't make it out of the castle before help gets there." Molly looked a great deal older as she said this, and very worried about her youngest child.

"I'll keep an eye on her, if you like," Harry said impulsively. "Ron and I are usually up pretty late working on homework, we'll help if something happens while we're in the common room. Hermione, too –" Harry paused. "Ron knows, doesn't he? About Ginny's dreams?"

"Yes, he knows," Molly answered, the tension easing from her face. She smiled wanly at Harry. "Thank you, dear… I don't want you staying up until all hours just in case Ginny has a dream, but it's sweet of you to offer. I'm sure she would appreciate it."

For some reason Harry flushed at that, and was quite glad that Mrs. Weasley had turned to finish making their cocoa, and didn't see his red cheeks. "I don't like anyone having nightmares," he mumbled defiantly. "Especially nightmares about Voldemort. Ginny doesn't deserve that, no one does."

Molly smiled down at him, a touch of motherly pride in her expression. "No, dear. No one does." She stroked his hair affectionately and set a mug in front of him, and left the kitchen without another word.

Harry stared after her for a moment, warming his hands on the mug, and wondered idly if Mrs. Weasley had been referring to his own nightmares. She had certainly given him a knowing look just then…

With a sigh, Harry turned his attention to his hot chocolate, and resolved to take Mrs. Weasley's advice and go back to bed for the night. Ron would still be snoring away, and he could probably get a few more hours of sleep before the promised breakfast, if he hurried.

Upstairs on the second floor, the youngest Weasley rolled restlessly in her sleep, her forehead puckered, but did not rise from her bed again that night.

***

END PART ONE

To Be Continued…

09/09/03


	2. Don't Touch Me!

Sleepwalker 

By Audra Lachesis

spazzula@yahoo.com

Chapter Two: 'Don't Touch Me!' 

"Lessee… and next Tuesday I'll get caught in a house-elf riot in the kitchens, and be trampled to within an inch of my life."

"Good call, Ron, Hermione'll be proud."

"Shaddup, you, concentrate on that quidditch accident you're having on Thursday. Why'd we decide to take this class again, anyway?"

Ron hunched over his parchment, quill scratching noisily as he put the finishing touches on his divination homework. Astonishingly enough, he and Harry had both scored A's on their Divination O.W.L.s – which effectively locked them into another year of putting up with Trelawny. Ron tossed his quill down and leaned over to look at Harry's assignment.

"Oy, you've still got three days left! Slacking off, aren't you, Potter?" Ron smirked.

"You swiped my lethifold idea!" Harry protested irritably. "That's the only reason I'm coming up short!"

"Oh, just throw something in about You-Know-Who and she'll eat it up," Ron said airily.

Harry stiffened. "No," he bit out shortly. "Don't joke."

Ron flushed. "Aw, you know I didn't mean anything by it, Harry. There haven't been any attacks all year. Maybe he's gone into hiding again."

"And maybe he's just waiting for the right moment," Harry muttered angrily. "Like Halloween, or Christmas. Lovely Christmas present, wouldn't you think? A nice big Dark Mark over Hogsmeade?"

Now it was Ron's turn to blanch. "Okay, I won't joke anymore. You don't think he'd really attack Hogsmeade, do you, Harry?"

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but a soft thump from the girls' staircase brought him up short. His head jerked around warily; this particular conversation didn't need eavesdroppers.

"Who's there?" Ron asked hoarsely. "Hermione – is that you?"

There was no answer, but a small red-haired figure emerged from the staircase, ignoring Ron and Harry as she shuffled across the carpet.

"Ginny!" Ron gasped, relieved. "Don't sneak up like that, Gin, you gave us as scare."

Ginny didn't answer; she didn't even spare him a glance as she moved from one armchair to another, patting each one experimentally on the back as she passed. The expression on her face was blan, and Harry felt his stomach drop suddenly. 

"Ron," Harry said urgently, "I don't think Ginny's awake just now."

"What?" Ron exclaimed. "She's not – she's sleepwalking again? How can you tell?"

"Ron, look at her face," Harry said, exasperated. "Does she look awake to you?"

Ginny's eyes swept over them blankly, not registering their presence. Ron shivered. "No… no, I see what you mean. Bit spooky, isn't it?"

"You've never seen her do this before?" Harry asked.

"'Course not. I've always been asleep when she went out for a stroll. Mum told me about it, of course, but I've never actually seen it myself. You have, then?"

"Yeah – one night at the Burrow. She tried to break through the window—" Harry stopped, suddenly, his eyes widening. "Ron – we're not exactly on the first floor here. Check the windows, quick!"

The two boys darted to the arched windows that lined part of the common room wall. They hurriedly checked that the latches were fastened. Harry watched Ginny warily; the last thing they needed was for her to try to throw herself out of Gryffindor Tower.

"What's she doing?" Ron whispered, watching his sister make her way aimlessly around the common room.

"Looking for something, I think," Harry answered. "Your mum said she was trying to get out at home – maybe she thinks she's back at the Burrow, and is confused."

"Well, she's not jumping out any windows, that's for sure," Ron said fervently, his eyes still trained on Ginny. "Can you imagine the Howler I'd get from Mum then?"

Ginny paused by the couches, a frown creasing her face, and turned her unseeing stare around the common room. The two boys held their breath as her gaze passed over them, but she paid them no attention. Instead her eyes lit on the portrait hole, and her expression suddenly cleared.

"Ron, she's leaving the Tower!" Harry cried, suddenly understanding her intention. "We have to stop her, there's no telling where she'll go if she leaves the Tower!"

"How?" Ron asked. "Do we wake her up or something?"

"No – no, I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to wake up a sleepwalker," Harry answered. "Your mum just sort of – guided her back to her room. Took her elbow and talked to her really quietly, and led her back up to bed."

"I'm not going up into the girls' dormitory," Ron protested. "Do you have any idea how much trouble we'd get into if those alarms went off? And that slide?"

"Would you rather let Ginny get loose in the castle?" Harry pointed out. "You're her brother, Ron, and a prefect besides. No one's going to yell at you for putting your sister safely back in her room – or at least getting her started in the right direction."

Ron looked uncomfortable. "But – but what am I supposed to DO, exactly? You're the one that saw Mum deal with her last time, not me! What if I wake her up? What if she won't be led? You're coming, too, Potter, I'm not doing this alone."

"Fine!" Harry muttered. "Just take one of her arms, and lead her back to the staircase. Hopefully she'll take the hint – I'd rather not brave those alarms if I don't have to."

The two boys advanced cautiously on Ginny, who was lurching blindly toward the portrait hole. Harry reached her first, and tucked one hand under her elbow.

Ginny whirled on him suddenly, her expression panicked. "Don't touch me!" she cried hoarsely, looking through him with that eerie half-awake expression, defiance lacing her alarm.

Startled, Harry took a step backward, letting go of Ginny's arm. "Ginny?"

"No, Tom – don't touch me! Stay back, leave me alone, you can't hurt me anymore… I'll hex you, Tom… don't touch…"

Ron threw an arm around Ginny's shoulders, and she buried her face in her brother's chest, refusing to look at Harry. Numb with shock, Harry met Ron's eyes over her head. They stared at each other for a long moment, and Harry retreated backwards a few more steps.

The portrait swung open without warning, and Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore stepped into the Gryffindor common room.

"Mr. Weasley… Mr. Potter… I see you've apprehended our wayward young fifth year for us. Well done." Professor Dumbledore smiled benignly down at them.

"Professor! She – she won't let me near her!" Harry cried. "She called me Tom!" He bit his lip, and wondered why it bothered him so much. He wasn't like Tom Riddle – he wasn't!

"Minerva, perhaps you should escort Mr. Weasley upstairs to put his sister back to bed – with the appropriate alarms disabled, of course," Dumbledore continued, ignoring Harry's outburst. "A dreamless sleep potion might be in order, as well. We'll speak to Madame Pomfrey when we get Miss Weasley settled."

Professor McGonagall nodded curtly, and herded Ron and Ginny up the stairs to the girls' dormitory. Harry watched them go, dismay still clearly written on his face.

"We've had wards placed on Miss Weasley's bed and dorm room this term, of course," Dumbledore said conversationally, jerking Harry out of his thoughts. "She sets them off anytime she crosses them while not fully conscious. It lets us know she's left her room at night. And the Fat Lady has promised to take note of any nighttime wanderings this year, so she can report to Professor McGonagall the instant Miss Weasley leaves the Tower. It was rather fortunate that you and Mr. Weasley were still awake, however – I don't know how far Miss Weasley might have gotten before we could get here."

"Professor – why did she call me Tom?" Harry pressed, still upset. "I don't look much like him – why did Ginny mistake me for Riddle?"

Dumbledore looked down at him. "You do have dark hair, Harry. I expect that's the only thing Miss Weasley really saw at the moment – one tends to get a bit shortsighted during nightmares, you know. I expect she was very focused on Tom Riddle, and saw who she expected to see. That doesn't mean she links you to Tom Riddle consciously, Harry – just that you look a little bit like him, and that's enough to frighten her in her unbalanced state."

"Unbalanced?" Harry echoed uneasily.

"Yes, Harry – Ginny's not in control when she's sleepwalking. She sees what she expects to see, and nothing more. I wouldn't worry too much about her mistaking you for Tom Riddle," Dumbledore said gently. "I expect when she's awake, she knows that you're nothing like Voldemort."

Dumbledore smiled benignly and gave Harry a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "You should get some sleep, Harry. Ginny won't be wandering any more tonight, I assure you."

With a last reluctant look toward the girls' dormitories, Harry sighed and began to climb the stairs to his own room.

He wasn't like Tom Riddle. And Ginny, of all people, should know that.

***

END PART TWO

To Be Continued…

09/09/03


	3. A Comforting Presence

Sleepwalker 

By Audra Lachesis

spazzula@yahoo.com

Chapter Three: A Comforting Touch 

In the Gryffindor common room, Ginny Weasley slammed her Potions book irritably, not caring that the noise made a nearby pair of second years jump in alarm. She sighed, and let her head fall to the desk in front of her with a resounding thump.

"O.W.L.s?"

Ginny lifted her head and squinted up at Harry. "Unfortunately. Snape's holding a grudge, I think. He simply refuses to mark me any higher than 'P' on our practice exams," she answered, her voice laced with exhaustion.

Harry chuckled and dropped into the chair beside her. "Ignore him – he doesn't grade the final O.W.L. exams. They've got special examiners at the Ministry who do that. I passed my Potions O.W.L., and Snape never marked me higher than a 'D'."

Ginny stared at him in disbelief. "He's mad, I think. Biased against Gryffindor."

"No doubt," Harry agreed fervently. He squinted at her, his mouth twitching.

Ginny frowned. "What's so funny?" she demanded, her eyes narrowing to slits.

"Nothing – nothing. I can just tell you're a bit frustrated." Harry answered, averting his eyes.

"Spit it out, Potter."

"It's just – you banged your head rather hard on the desk a moment ago, didn't you? Only there's a rather large bump in the middle of your forehead that I don't recall being there at dinner…"

Ginny's eyes widened, and one hand flew up to her forehead in dismay. She barely had time to discern the fact that there _was_ no bump before Harry burst out laughing.

"Wretch," she growled, throwing a cushion at him, but she couldn't help smiling herself.

****

From his armchair by the window, Harry blinked owlishly at the book he cradled. He had been reading the same page for a quarter of an hour now, and only vaguely realized that it had something to do with Disillusionment Charms. He kept getting distracted by the figure that lay on the other side of the common room, curled up on one of the couches by the fire.

They were the only two left in the common room now, and Harry once again scolded himself for his reluctance to go up to his own dormitory. Ginny had nodded off halfway through a Transfiguration essay, her quill still clutched tightly in her fingers. He had removed it, of course, before the ink ran and blotted what work she had managed to get done. Then he had returned to his silent vigil across the room. She had been asleep for over an hour now, and still Harry found it difficult to just leave her there.

_Just wake her up and tell her she should go upstairs,_ he told himself, not for the first time. _It's not as if she'd **want**__ to spend the entire night down here, she's not going to hex you_…

But the idea of shaking Ginny awake made Harry break out in gooseflesh, for some reason, and every time he started to put his book aside to go wake her, something stopped him.

So he watched her sleep instead, and fought with his own conscience.

_You're only making sure she doesn't have another nightmare,_ Harry told himself firmly. _You are **not**__ afraid of her pulling away again… calling you Tom…_ He dragged his eyes back down to his book once more, glaring at it fiercely.

Across the room, Ginny stirred restlessly, and Harry's gaze jerked up to focus on her once more. She shifted in her sleep, blazing hair spilling over the edge of the couch and cascading toward the crimson-and-gold rugs. Harry swallowed hard, forcing the lump out of his throat.

"Nooooo…"

It was barely audible, but Harry was listening for it – a slight whimper from Ginny, as her forehead creased into a frown.

"Not again… not again, Tom, please… you can't make me… I won't let you… stop—"

She bolted upright without warning, her eyes wide open and staring at the fire. Harry watched in alarm, hoping that she had simply woken from her nightmare, and would gather her things and head up to the girls' dormitory.

Her blank stare traveled the course of the common room, and finally came to rest on him. Harry stared back, and to his shock, her expressionless stare faltered. Anger replaced the blankness, and Ginny's brown eyes flared to life.

"Stay away from my family, Tom," she said clearly, gritting her teeth as she glared her hatred at Harry. "My parents – my brothers – Hermione – Harry – you leave all of them alone," she growled.

Harry stared back, mesmerized. She sounded more coherent than the past two times he had seen her sleepwalking. More than ever he wondered if she was really awake and lucid, but confused.

"You can't have them – you can't have _him_ – I won't _let you_," Ginny snarled. She balled her fists up and raised them slightly, as if she wanted to strike out at Voldemort.

Slowly, Harry got to his feet, eyes never leaving Ginny. He put his hands up in front of him, trying to seem as harmless as possible, and crept toward her.

Alarm flickered in Ginny's eyes, and she flinched as Harry took another step forward. "No," she whispered. "Stay back. I'm warning you."

"It's not Tom, Ginny," Harry said softly, hands still in front of him. "It's Harry – not Tom – Harry, Gin."

Ginny's hands clutched at the cushions of the couch. Before Harry could react, her wand was in her hand, pointing directly at him. "Stay _back_," she hissed. "I'll – I'll hurt you, Tom, I swear I will."

He was close enough to touch her now, but Harry simply stopped. He was sweating slightly; with his hands up, he couldn't reach for his own wand. Even attempting such a thing could set her off.

"Ginny, don't you know me?" Harry whispered softly. "I'm _not Tom_ – I'm Harry."

Ginny's eyes cleared for a moment, and she stared at him uncertainly. "Harry?"

"Yes, Gin. It's me. Tom's not here."

"But—"

"It's just a nightmare, Gin. He's not here. He can't get you – you're stronger than he is."

Tears began to trace their paths down Ginny's cheeks, and she still stared at him in disbelief.

"Remember last year, Gin?" Harry kept his voice low, soothing. "You helped me slip past Umbridge, when I needed to talk to Sirius. You hexed Malfoy to within an inch of his life. Rode a thestral all the way to London. Dueled with Death Eaters in the heart of the Department of Mysteries. And _you survived._ Voldemort can't touch you anymore."

Ginny's eyes closed, and her wand slipped from her fingers as she covered her face with her hands. She sobbed uncontrollably as Harry closed the distance between them and awkwardly put an arm around her shoulders. To his shock, she buried her face in his shoulder and wept. He pulled her into a hug, hoping desperately to stem the flood of tears.

"Shh, you're just fine, Ginny Weasley. If anyone can resist Voldemort, it's you."

"H-Harry—" she choked, still sobbing.

"It's okay, Gin. Just a nightmare."

Ginny had lifted her face to stare at him, and he glanced down reluctantly. Her face was streaked with tears, making the smattering of freckles across her cheeks stand out even more. She hiccupped slightly as she blinked up at him. Impulsively, Harry dropped a feather-light kiss on her forehead, on the imaginary 'bump' he had teased her about earlier.

Ginny swallowed, and closed her eyes briefly. "Sorry – sorry, Harry, he made me—"

"He won't make you do anything anymore," Harry said fiercely, locking eyes with her. "You beat him once, Gin, you will again. I'll help, if you need me."

"Need you – please H-Harry, need all of you – can't do this alone –"

"You won't have to," he said, and before he realized what he was doing, Harry leaned over and kissed her softly on the lips.

The warmth of her mouth surprised him more than anything, and he almost jerked back in shock. He had never actually initiated a kiss before; Cho had taken that particular step last year, and he hadn't been able to do much of anything except pat her awkwardly on the shoulder when Cho burst into tears right there under the mistletoe.

The irony of the situation wasn't lost on him – Ginny's cheeks were still streaked with tears, as well. But just as Harry started to pull back, she breathed a tiny sigh of contentment, and her fingers reached out to trace his jaw line.

It was a lot harder to pull away after that. Harry's thoughts scattered wildly as Ginny deepened the kiss. His last coherent thought for the next few minutes was to wonder if Ginny was still asleep.

***

"Ginny?"

Even if the insistent tugging at her robes hadn't wakened her, Hermione's voice would have. Ginny opened her eyes blearily and tried to focus on the Gryffindor prefect.

"Ginny, what in Merlin's name are you doing asleep in the common room?" Hermione asked worriedly, peering down at where Ginny was curled on the couch.

"Dunno," Ginny answered with a yawn. "I was working on Transfiguration, and I was just so _tired_…"

"Come on, then, let's get you to bed – it's barely dawn, honestly, Ginny—" Hermione tsked, bustling Ginny to her feet.

Ginny gathered her books as quickly as she could, frowning slightly as she searched for her quill. As she straightened and turned to follow Hermione, she froze, a puzzled expression on her face.

"Hermione – why's Harry asleep in front of the portrait hole?" Ginny asked quizzically.

Hermione craned her neck to look around one of the huge armchairs. Sure enough, Harry had apparently confiscated every cushion Ginny herself wasn't using, and made a sort of barricade in front of the Fat Lady's portrait. He was firmly ensconced in the middle of the mad little nest, asleep. He had partially burrowed under the cushions, with only his head and upper torso visible, but his expression was more relaxed than Hermione had seen him while awake.

"Looks like he's guarding something, doesn't it?" Hermione mused. "Honestly, he really does have some strange nobility complex, doesn't he? I hope he's not trying to keep the whole blasted tower safe or something," she muttered.

Ginny's expression was troubled as she watched Harry asleep in his fort of pillows. "I don't think he was… let him sleep, Hermione, Ron'll come looking for him in an hour or two." She smiled slightly, her eyes a bit unfocused. "You know, Hermione, I had the oddest dream last night…"

***

END

09/09/03


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